Consent (The Loan Shark Duet 2)

Making my way down the hallway to my office, I dig my phone from my pocket and call Rhett.

He replies with a cheerful, “What’s up, boss?”

“In my office. Now. Bring Quincy.”

I hang up and rush through my office door, expecting an army or Magda, but what I see is a sheet of white paper on my desk.

All of my attention hones in on that scrap of paper. Instinct tells me everything that has just derailed in my life is summarized on there, and for three whole seconds I can’t make myself move. I pinch my eyes shut, brace myself, and round my desk. It’s in her handwriting. My hand shakes as I lift it to the light and read.

I can’t honor my promise. I hope you’ll forgive me.

Goddammit, no!

I crumple the paper in my fist and drag my hands through my hair. I feel like falling to my knees, but somehow I remain standing. Of all the things she could’ve done, this is the last I expected. Charlie means too much to her. My feelings are a mess of tangled, electric wires. I’m about to short-circuit, explode, and burn out. I want to find and hurt her, make her pay for her betrayal and for what she’s putting me through. I’ll take the skin off her backside and drag her right back. This time, I’ll chain her to my bed until she understands the meaning of property.

Rhett and Quincy chase through the door, saving me from my dark thoughts. They both still at the state of me.

“What’s up?” Quincy asks carefully.

I lower my hands to my hips. It’s hard for me to speak. For a moment, I consider thrusting the paper at them, but I don’t want them to witness Valentina’s intimate rejection. I swallow, breathe in, and say, “Valentina’s gone.”

Quincy pales. “What do you mean, gone?”

It takes every ounce of strength I have to push out the words, and when I finally do, my mouth is bitter. “She ran.”

Rhett’s eyes go wide. “Fuck, no.”

Quincy is the first to get to his senses. “Did she say something? Has someone seen her go?”

“She left a note.” Since Quincy seems more in control than Rhett, I say, “Go to the guardhouse. Ask them when she left and how. With what? Did she go with a suitcase? Pull the tape. I want to know every fucking detail. Not a word to Magda or her guards.” A dribble of cold sweat runs down my spine as I say it. This is the opportunity Magda has been waiting for.

Quincy is out of my office in a flash. I’m tripping over my thoughts in the orders I’m thinking up for Rhett. Track her phone. Pull her bank records for the last six hours. Put out word with our informants. Before I can voice anything, Rhett steps forward. Something in his demeanor makes me pause. His shoulders are hunched and his eyebrows drawn together.

“Gabriel…” he starts.

This is going to be bad.

He pauses and licks his lips. “There’s something you should know.”

Those words make me want to kill him. He knows something and withheld it from me. I stand quietly, waiting for him to continue.

“I think…” He lowers his head. “Maybe… I don’t know for sure, but…”

My patience snaps. “Spit it out or I’ll shoot a hole in your goddamn tongue.”

He takes a deep breath and faces me. “Valentina asked me to buy her a pregnancy test this morning.”

I reel in shock. “What?” I heard him fine, but I can’t process what he told me. “Valentina thinks she’s pregnant?” I say more to myself than him.

“If you think about it, she’s been acting kind of emotional, lately.”

I let the observation sink in. She’s been through a lot with her accident and giving up her studies. Naturally, I attributed her sadness to those events. Now that Rhett mentions it, Valentina has been more tearful than usual. When I touched her last night, her breasts were bigger and tender, but I blamed her pending period for the changes.

Fuck me.

There are too many feelings assaulting me to make sense of anything––pride, joy, fear, hot fucking raving mad anger. If Valentina is pregnant and she ran, it can only be for one reason. I know how negative and depressed the women in my life felt about their planned pregnancies. How much worse must she feel about an unexpected one? She doesn’t want the baby, and she’s going to get rid of it.

Even if I expected the reaction, I’m filled with rage and heart-ripping anxiety. The rage is not for her, but for me. I could’ve prevented this disaster. I should’ve locked her up. I should’ve noticed when her disposition changed. I could’ve prevented her from killing our child, the child who is supposed to save her.

Pain rips through my insides when I think about losing an unborn baby, but I have no one but myself to blame. This is all my doing. I swapped her birth control pills for placebos. I deceived her in the most despicable way, and I’ll take full responsibility for her actions. No matter if she’s no longer pregnant, she’s still mine, and I want her back.